240 GAME BIRDS AND WILD FOWL. 



rels have been discharged with a similar result. 

 A few feathers indeed are floating on the air, 

 which seem to afford some consolation to the 

 unsuccessful gunner, as he turns round exultingly 

 to his loader and cries, " I hit her, John, how- 

 ever." "That you did, my lord, she's a dead 

 bird." " Mark her down, John." " Look out, 

 my lord, there 's another over your head." Bang 

 bang " She has left her tail at any rate con- 

 found it I can't account for it I made out 

 much better with the pigeons last week I 'm 

 sure the powder must be damp load away, 

 John." Bang. " There 's one down this time. 

 Where's the retriever?" " Not come back yet, 

 my lord." " D n the dog, he 's not worth a 

 halfpenny run after her yourself make haste, 

 she '11 get into the gorse if you don't. Holloa ! 

 stop ! come back ! you Ve got the caps and the 

 wadding " But John is out of hearing, and 

 Lord Tyro having no ammunition in his own 

 pockets, a respite is fortunately afforded, of which 

 Smith, the keeper, promptly avails himself, and 

 makes the best of his time to hurry the beaters 

 and spaniels to the end of the cover for the final 

 'bouquet' before the guns can be reloaded 

 much to the mortification of his lordship, who is 

 now running at his best speed to the corner of 

 the hanger and soon afterwards Captain Haw- 



